


My Boy Builds Coffins

by for_autumn_i_am



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Attempt at Humor, Daddy Kink, Denial of Feelings, Fake/Pretend Relationship, London, M/M, Misunderstandings, Office Sex, Pining, Sexy Carpentry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 03:35:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15452493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_autumn_i_am/pseuds/for_autumn_i_am
Summary: When Ben decided to get himself a sugar daddy, he was expecting a disciplined gentleman with expensive tastes. Hux is rich, but not flashy. He’s awkward and prissy. He doesn’t even seem to want sex. There’s something about him, though. Something that makes Ben want to break his own rules.





	My Boy Builds Coffins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeusus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeusus/gifts).



> Please see the end notes for **content warnings and clarifications**

**15 March**

GeneralH: Mr. O’Ren?  
xkylorenx: lol it’s kylo ren but yeah that me  
xkylorenx: General huh  
xkylorenx: military or just military kink ;)  
xkylorenx: both sound delicious ;)  
GeneralH: Neither.  
GeneralH: Can you accompany me for brunch at Outer Space on Wadeson Street, tomorrow between 11 a.m.-11.30 a.m.?  
xkylorenx: whoa there chat me up first  
xkylorenx: I don’t even know u  
GeneralH: The first thing you need to know about me, Mr. Ren, is that I’m a busy man.  
GeneralH: Your profile said, and I quote, “no bullshit, you pay me, I turn up.”  
GeneralH: The app indicates you’re in my three mile radius.  
GeneralH: I don’t see why I can’t introduce myself over brunch.  
GeneralH: I can pay for your time.  
xkylorenx: with an attitude like that you better  
GeneralH: I didn’t message you to be insulted.  
xkylorenx: I’m into it actually  
xkylorenx: I like my men bossy ;)  
GeneralH: Is that a yes?  
xkylorenx: let’s do it this way I get to ask 3 questions  
GeneralH: You have five minutes.  
xkylorenx: are you a serial killer  
GeneralH: What kind of idiotic inquiry is that? If you cannot trust the security check the website offers, why do you even bother?  
xkylorenx: ok second question do u think I’m hot  
GeneralH: I asked you something. Answer it first.    
xkylorenx: whoa  
xkylorenx: mmmm  
xkylorenx: I don’t know how to tell you this but I was being sarcastic  
GeneralH: Four more minutes.  
xkylorenx: do you think I’m hot  
GeneralH: Obviously.  
xkylorenx: u gotta work on the flattery thing, General  
GeneralH: If I had time to flirt properly I wouldn’t be on this website, would I?  
xkylorenx: guess not  
GeneralH: Last question.  
xkylorenx: is that your hand?  
xkylorenx: on your profile pic  
xkylorenx: with that suggestive fountain pen ;)  
GeneralH: Yes.  
xkylorenx: nice    
xkylorenx: are you protecting ur identity bc you’re somebody or bc you’re married  
GeneralH: You had your three questions.  
xkylorenx: but I still have one minute! :D  
GeneralH: I’m single.  
GeneralH: I don’t think you’ve ever heard of me, but let’s just say that I’m someone important. I won’t jeopardize my position online.  
GeneralH: Will you be there tomorrow or should I find someone else?  
xkylorenx: why should I be there?  
xkylorenx: convince me.  
GeneralH: Judging by the amount of cockiness and winky faces you’re not completely appalled by the mere idea of being in my company.  
GeneralH: Besides, it’d be only polite if I brought you a little gift for our first date. What would make you happy?  
xkylorenx: idk £69 in cash sounds none too shabby lol  
GeneralH: Deal.  
xkylorenx: lol are u serious  
xkylorenx: can I get a macbook instead?  
xkylorenx: u don’t have to bring anything, it’s our 1st meeting. not a date. getting to know each other, laying down the rules if we wanna go on, the boring stuff.  
xkylorenx: have u done this before?  
xkylorenx: are u there?

 

**16 March**

 

Ben suspected that the General might just be a particularly cruel prankster with an elaborate gig, but he was desperate enough to show up. What’s more, he was desperate enough to dress up.

He cleaned up nice. Black button down, black skinny jeans. Sleeves rolled up. Sunglasses to protect the scarce remains of his dignity. It was freezing balls for March, but he decided to forgo his leather jacket. His bad boy image wasn’t doing him any favours on SpoilMeDaddy.com; he was on thin ice. He was twenty-seven, too old to be a sugar baby for any self-respecting daddy. He wasn’t even _super_ broke. He had a job he liked. He lived at Finsbury with his old mate Poe and also Rey, who was more like a nemesis. The flat was okay.

He just knew that he could do better. Especially if he asked his parents for help. He could always do that. Which meant he never learnt how to handle money. He had invested everything he had in opening his own woodshop, and half a year later all the loans and debts had come to kick him in the ass. He had to sell his car last month. Then his fucking notebook broke. He started using a cheap-ass shampoo that made his hair look lank, and he could no longer afford to eat out, let alone go clubbing. He’d been dreaming about being able to casually grab a Starbucks or do more than ‘like’ the clothes he wanted on Instagram. If sucking cock got him closer to paying off his shitty debt so he could waste money again, so be it.

Problem is, men with money liked their boys clueless and eager. They wanted college students who’d tear up if they got a new phone and a fucking pat on the head. Ben wasn’t like that. He didn’t want someone to take care of him. For him, it was proper business, and nothing but business. He had a killer body and looked impressive in a suit. If he could get somebody to throw some extra cash at him as he posed as arm candy, that’d be grand.

He’d been on the website for three weeks and he hadn’t even managed to go on a date. He was rough around the edges. He knew that. He could be rude and intense. Challenging, as Luke worded it. A dickhead, as Rey was prone to say. It didn’t seem to bother anybody on grindr. He often struggled, but managed. SpoilMeDaddy was different.

It was 10:58 a.m. He’d wait for ten minutes and then admit defeat, delete his profile and look for a side hustle. This shit wasn’t leading anywhere. He could try bartending. Or sell his kidney. Something.  

He put his back to the uninspiring brick wall of the building. Surveying the dying trees and the worrying number of white vans he wondered if his weekly budget would allow him to get a coffee as a consolation prize. Wadeson street wasn’t exactly the fanciest part of town, which further suggested a scam. There was a bicycle missing its wheels chained to a lamppost, for fuck’s sake. He spotted a guy frowning at it. The level of distaste on his face was almost comical. Their eyes met as the guy glanced up; Ben had to take a deep breath.

He knew it was the General. He just knew it, although he looked nothing like he imagined him. First of all, evidently he came to their date on foot or something—Ben had been expecting a cab, at least. He was wearing a sensible sweater with elbow patches, and fucking glasses. And he was a ginger. A skinny one at that. Young as well. He looked like a TA. Admittedly, a hot one. He looked even hotter as his frown deepened.

“You’re early,” he called. He had a soft voice with a shrill edge and walked in a funny way. Was he wearing a plug, perhaps? Ben would’ve liked that.

“It’s 10:59,” he said after a theatrical glance at his lockscreen.

“We agreed on eleven,” the General said, stopping two steps short of him. He didn’t offer his hand. He was clutching a weather worn leather satchel. It looked heavy. Overpacked. “Always arrive on time. If I say eleven, it’s eleven sharp.”

“And good morning to you too,” Ben drawled.

The General wasn’t to be swayed. He opened the door to the bistro with a little too much force. “After you.”

“Ah, a gentleman.” Ben put his hands into his pockets and walked inside, welcoming the blessed warmth. He didn’t know what to make of the situation. The place looked chic: a black-walled hall with a staggering number of occupied tables, star-shaped lights hanging from the high ceiling. Very minimalistic, painfully pretentious. They were lead to a table with a little “reserved” card. Ben stretched out his legs and looked around. Maybe the General was loaded after all. Maybe he was just a hipster.

“Here,” the General said, handing him the menu. Ben’s eyes lingered on his hands. He had awfully nice hands. He peered at him through lowered lashes, head tilted. The bright lights were making the General’s cheekbones stand out. Good bone structure, plush lips, and sad eyes. A promising start, give or take the complete absence of manners.

Ben dropped his gaze and chose the first item. “Avocado toast with sriracha chilli sauce.”

“Ah. They make it quite spicy.”

“I like spicy,” Ben said, dropping his voice even lower than usual. The General seemed to be affected by it. He was blinking a lot, staring at Ben and trying not to be obvious about it. Ben decided the elbow patches were growing on him. Slowly.

“I don’t know how to go about this—arrangement,” the General confessed, closing his menu.

 _I can tell_ , Ben thought, but decided not to make that comment. “You said you’d tell me about yourself,” he prompted, gently touching his foot to the General’s ankle. He jumped in his seat. Interesting.

“Well, what is there to tell?” he babbled, pushing his glasses up his nose. A waiter came to take their order. The General went for crab rarebit with rocket and capers, and mango lassi for the both of them. Ben’s hopes would’ve started to go up money-wise, if the customers around them weren’t a bunch of art college students. The place was hip, but affordable. Not the five-star restaurant he’d been imagining.

“What do you do, sir?” Ben asked. It became immediately evident that the General didn’t like to be called that, but he chose not to correct Ben on it. He was learning.

“If you must know,” he said, voice almost a whisper, “I’m a professional art curator.”

“No shit,” Ben grinned. “Let me guess, First Order Gallery?”

The General looked around quickly. “I don’t have to tell you where I work.”

“I work in Islington too,” Ben countered, gesticulating at the vague direction of his woodshop. “I’m a carpenter. It’s my own little business. I build coffins, for the most part.”

“Oh,” the General said, then softer, “oh.”

“Pretty morbid, huh?” Ben asked, thinking, _please like morbid stuff. Please like me_.

The General adjusted his glasses again. Ben wanted to reach out and help him. He didn’t know why. He had jacked off after their odd talk online, sure. He liked how commanding the General had sounded. IRL he was quite the opposite. Endearing in a weird way. Easy to tease. Still hard to please.

“They’re just coffins,” the General said. “There’s nothing morbid about them, on their own, I mean, unoccupied.” He made a face at that. “We’re all going to die.” And  to bury himself deeper, he added, “I didn’t know you were American.”

He was like a personified train wreck. A cautionary tape on unapologetic, angry social awkwardness. No wonder he dated online. No wonder he was shit at it.

“I still don’t know your name, so I guess we’re even.”

“Right. Dr. Armitage Hux. You’ll address me as Hux.” He bit his lips. He was holding onto the table’s edge, his safety blanket of a satchel bag forgotten by his chair. He looked ready to get under the table any minute—and not in the naughty way, just so he could hide forever.

“Is that what you’d like me to call you?” Ben purred.

“I just told you.”

God, it was bliss to torment him. “I thought you wanted to be my daddy.” Ben crossed his arms to flex his muscles a little. Just a little. Sugar babies weren’t supposed to be shredded, but then again, Hux didn’t seem to want a twink. A twink would mean competition. He must’ve been over thirty but he was soft and lean and acting like a flustered virgin.

“Right. The arrangement,” Hux said, lingering on the last word meaningfully.

“The Pact,” Ben countered. Hux scowled.

“It’s hardly a pact.”

“The Concord,” Ben went on.

“Why are you like this?” Hux asked helplessly. “Why must you—”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know what you bargained for, my profile was pretty straightforward,” Ben said. “I don’t play nice. I don’t play pretend. Yes, I want cash. Yes, I am willing to get dicked down for it, but on my own terms and without getting arrested, you know?”

He might’ve been hallucinating but Hux seemed to be blushing. “Right,” he said. “Well, what I’m looking for is quite different—”

“Ah,” Ben said. His heart sank. Shit. He hadn’t even had his bloody avocado toast yet.

“I mean, in terms of—I’m looking for somebody who can do this.” He gestured around.

“Who can—play charades?”

“Who can accompany me to a Sunday brunch when I ask them to do so just the night before,” Hux said. “I work non-stop, and I take pride in it. I’m busy. I don’t have time to arrange for dates. I was under the impression that’s what your profile promised. That you’d be available. How does that work with a woodshop?”

Ben shrugged, relieved. “Worst case scenario, you put up a ‘be right back’ sign. I’m my own boss, I can do whatever as long as I meet my deadlines. My apprentices can definitely help me out. Don’t worry about that. Question is, why would you want to date me? Fake-date me. Paid-date me.”

Hux smirked. It might’ve been a smile. It had an edge of mania. Ben felt his cock twitch, inexplicably. “Because you put it like that,” Hux said.

“Put it like what?”

“As it is.” Hux leant back in his chair. His shoulders dropped. With his nervous tension easing, he looked like a different man. He even took off his glasses, and pointed them at Ben. “No bullshit,” he said. “No small talk. No _being cute_.”

“Yeah. None of that,” Ben said, enthralled. _Just crazy monkey sex._ He could tell already that Hux was a freak in the sheets.

 

**17 March**

 

xkylorenx: never thanked you for brunch so hey, thank you for brunch!  
xkylorenx: watcha up to today?  
xkylorenx: if I may ask  
xkylorenx: also thanks for the cash btw but you really shouldn’t have when somebody asks you for 69 something they’re pulling your leg  
xkylorenx: unless they’re asking you to do 69 in which case, that’s a lucky, lucky day

 

**18 March**

 

GeneralH: I appreciate your interest. Let me just say that an Australian gallery is holding onto a piece that would be essential for my upcoming “Lunar Landscapes” exhibition. Things got rather ugly. Threats were being made. Took up my whole day. I’d like to hear about yours.    
xkylorenx: douche gallery can suck my dick  
xkylorenx: you too ;)  
xkylorenx: anyway nothing much, today I’m making a st andrew’s cross for someone’s sex dungeon and starting a coffin for someone’s granny, pray that I don’t mix up the orders

 

**20 March**

 

xkylorenx: I have saturday off if you wanna meet. any day, really.

 

**21 March**

 

xkylorenx: how do u feel about dickpics  
xkylorenx: I’m asking because a) I have a big dick and b) I broke my flatmates stupid coffee machine to prove a point and she wants me to buy her a new one and I can’t but she’s gonna kill me yikes  
xkylorenx: I’ve been threatened  
xkylorenx: the most embarrassing part of this story is the fact that she’s like, 17 and 5’7”  
GeneralH: I am happy to hear about your dick, I’m sure it’s very nice; however, I think I’d be more interested in something else. Are you familiar with the concept of “mukbang?”  
xkylorenx: mmm watching others eat does it for you? ;)  
xkylorenx: should I chew very hard and moan around forkfuls of spaghetti, lick my fingers and stuff?  
xkylorenx: I can deepthroat a banana you know  
xkylorenx: scratch that, for you I can deepthroat two (2) bananas. if you don’t get jealous ;)  
GeneralH: A 5-8 minutes video of casual chatter and consuming any food of your choosing with good tableside manners should earn you £150 forwarded to your PayPal. Also, please make sure that the minor does not have access to our messages if you continue to flirt in this manner.  
xkylorenx: nah she’s rarely around she’d run away from home & school but she still has to go to work sucks to be her  
xkylorenx: wish she wasn’t so angry tho her revenge knows no bounds  
xkylorenx: + whoa £150 is way too much I can get a coffee machine for like £20 I guess but I don’t have twenty to spare atm budget is tight lol so  
xkylorenx: video forthcoming!

 

**22 March**

 

xkylorenx: was it gross  
GeneralH: Quite the opposite.  
xkylorenx: was it pleasant and decent  
GeneralH: I should think your bank account has the answer.  
GeneralH: Could you meet me tonight?  
xkylorenx: aw, you miss me? ;)  
GeneralH: I want to go see a movie.  
xkylorenx: ?  
xkylorenx: okay cool what are we watching  
GeneralH: Does it matter?  
xkylorenx: no daddy  
GeneralH: “Daddy” makes me feel old.  
xkylorenx: forgive me grandfather  
GeneralH: How dare you.  
xkylorenx: don’t block me  
xkylorenx: I couldn’t bear my forebears to abandon me  
GeneralH: Dear God, you have such a unique sense of humour.  
xkylorenx: u like it  
GeneralH: Well.  
GeneralH: Yes.  
xkylorenx: ;)

*

Ben would never have guessed that he’d ever be excited to go to fucking Empire Cinemas, which managed to be both laughably mainstream and aggressively semi-fancy. He preferred small arthouse stuff with artisan food, which was exactly why he had recently started pirating shit: he could no longer afford the experience. Not even with a sugar daddy, apparently.

The possibility of seeing said sugar daddy was worth the awkward twenty minute walk around the block because he got there early and remembered Hux’s lesson on punctuality. He wanted to make a good entrance, since he got a bit over-the-top with his date night attire that included a crop top and high-waisted pants with a leather detail. To be honest, he was getting impatient. He wanted to suggest to Hux that he was open for fun. That that’s what he was _for_.

Based on their first discussion at the artsy-fartsy café, all Hux asked for now was Ben’s time. Ben was still holding out hope that they’d make the most of it. He wasn’t quite sure what he thought of Hux, but he didn’t usually think twice before he jumped into someone’s bed—all they had to be was aesthetically appealing.

Hux met the criteria. He not only met the criteria, but chatted it up, took it home, and made sweet love to it by candlelight: he showed up in a cardigan with his shirt tucked in, and a _bowtie_ for heaven’s sake. He looked cute. Ben never thought his daddy would be _cute_.

“I hope you didn’t wait too long,” Hux barked. The charm was gone. It was replaced by something far more intriguing.

“No,” Ben gritted. There was a clumsy moment where they just measured each other by the lights of West End: Ben wasn’t sure if he should go in for a handshake, a hug, or a kiss. Hux brushed past him.

“Come along, we don’t want to be late.”

Ben kinda hated himself for following without a word. Hux walked with a purpose, swaying their online tickets around as if it was a search warrant. Ben could hardly keep up with him; with some desperation, he managed to get hold of his shirtsleeve, making Hux halt bewilderedly.

“Don’t we want popcorn?” Ben said, a bit out of breath.

“Do _you_ want popcorn? I brought food.”

Ben glanced at the sign telling them they should absolutely not bring their own fucking food, then looked at the cinema employee standing next to it, who must’ve heard Hux loud and clear. They pretended they didn’t, clearing their throat and checking their nails.

“Okay,” Ben mouthed. Then he asked for some Ben & Jerry’s to feel appreciated.

Hux didn’t book one of those kinky couple’s chairs. The thick armrest of the run-of-the-mill seat blocked Ben’s feeble attempts to make their thighs brush as Hux fumbled with his satchel. The room was quite packed as well, and the previews started playing without Hux saying anything. However, he did manage to produce a small tupperware filled with nuts and another one with takeout from Wasabi—soup, by the looks of it. Hux got a pair of disposable chopsticks, and tried to look like a person who was not slurping ramen at the cinema.

“I didn’t have time to eat today,” he explained. Ben kept staring. It was a sight to behold for sure. He still didn’t quite get the mukbang thing either. Did Hux have a feederism fetish? Was he trying to be subtle about it? Except he looked annoyed by Ben staring, so he turned his attention to the advertisements, diminishing all thoughts of vore.

He almost jumped out of his skin when Hux nudged his arm with the tupperware, announcing loudly, “Nuts.”

The group of schoolkids behind them laughed.

“No, thank you,” Ben whispered.

Hux shrugged, and started opening up a bottle of sparkling water so carefully that it kept hissing well into the first credits.

Ben still had no idea what they were watching and started despairing. Sure, he’d get paid for this. But he’d also get paid for making popcorn and _serving_ popcorn to _normal people_ who had popcorn at the cinema. The promise of dick would be consoling. He could _tell_ Hux had fascinating shit going on: maybe it was bendy, or uncut like most Europeans’, not to mention the drapes-curtain thing. He would gladly sit here for two hours if it meant that then he’d get to sit on Hux’s cock and ride him into oblivion.

Riding him into oblivion would have the benefit that they could both forget how badly this date started.

He put on a crop top for this.

He shaved his balls for this.

He tried to collect his wits as the movie that he took to be a thriller so far threatened to turn into romance, and told himself that it was not an ordinary movie date. He was a sugar baby. A motherfucking princess, goddamnit. Over ninety kilos of it. He had to be seductive. Coax his daddy. Whine and beg for attention. Be paradoxically passive about it.

He contemplated his options, came up with jackshit, and with a defeated sigh, threw up his hands. That was the plan. Because then he settled an arm over Hux’s backrest. Lo and behold, Hux immediately pressed closer, so Ben let his arm drop to his shoulder.

Now he was panicking proper. If Hux didn’t react, that’d have made sense. That would’ve meant that Ben was doing a shitty job, as always, and was being shitty at relationships, and that it’d be over soon, because despite how Ben tripped over his dick to be enthusiastic maybe Hux wanted something else after all. But apparently, what Hux wanted was a cuddle.

Hux was gently snoring five minutes later.

Well. Maybe it made _some_ sense.

His hair smelt amazing, by the way. Like cinnamon.

Equal measures hungry, aroused, and confused, Ben nuzzled him awake when the movie finished. Hux let out a small laugh at Ben’s breath tickling his neck, and gave him a semi-conscious smile.

“We should go,” Ben said, heart heavy. The cleaners were already lining up and waiting. Hux nodded, still drowsy, and let Ben pull him to his feet. Ben really liked that they were almost the same height. He tried not to think of sixty-nineing, but couldn’t help but be low-key curious about it since their first date. Maybe Hux would be willing. Maybe today was the day.

They got to the street, the sudden chill making Hux sober up a bit from his sated dazedness. Ben rubbed at his arms, unsure how to go on, what to say—Hux took the gesture to mean something else.

“Are you cold?” he asked, peeling off his cardigan before Ben could answer. He was too flabbergasted to correct him, and let him drape the thing over his shoulders. Of course, it didn’t fit at all—it looked like an odd scarf on Ben’s robust frame.

“Thank you,” he said nevertheless. Hux let his hands linger, pressed to Ben’s biceps, either to help him warm up or to check whether Ben was really that brawny. Judged by the slight flush of his face, it was the latter.

“Should I get you a cab?” he asked, gripping him tighter.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Hux frowned. “Don’t be shy. Do you really want to go by public transport?”

Ben didn’t want to go at all. Realising that he had to was a hard pill to swallow. The night had just gotten interesting—but Hux still looked famished and fatigued; Ben could understand why he needed more than a nap at the cinema.

“I love how the underground smells,” he said as seriously as he could muster. Hux was appalled, even more so when he realised Ben was taking the piss. He swatted his arms, and let go of him.

“Go on then, be gross elsewhere. I’ll be in touch.”

He had put his hands in his pockets, but was still standing rather close, and was still smelling amazing. Ben was so lost in absorbing all this that he missed his cue, just staring at Hux with puppy eyes. Hux sighed, then there was a sharp intake of breath. He pressed his lips to the corner of Ben’s mouth—the briefest kiss, if it could even be called that; but the pressure was perfect, and Hux’s lips were soft and warm. He pulled back rather abruptly, ducked his head, and with a muttered “good night,” he was gone.

 

**23 March**

 

GeneralH: I should have told you this in person, but: thank you for accompanying me to the cinema. I was tired of going alone. You’ll find a suitable amount of compensation in your bank account for your trouble.  
xkylorenx: no need  
GeneralH: What do you mean?  
xkylorenx: I ugh  
xkylorenx: fuck  
xkylorenx: I just meant thanks.  
xkylorenx: thanks for the money but… thanks for the evening  
xkylorenx: mostly  
xkylorenx: as well  
GeneralH: I’m not sure I understand.  
xkylorenx: lol it’s nothing

**24 March**

  
GeneralH: I have a proposition. Time is of the essence.  
xkylorenx: mmm all ears  
GeneralH: I’m expected at a wedding at the 31st, and I’m in need of a plus one. Are you available that day?  
xkylorenx: will be now ;)  
GeneralH: Excellent. I’ll forward you the details, including the proposed payment, which is negotiable. Have a nice day.  
xkylorenx: ok, u too!

**25 March**

  
xkylorenx: did you send me the details? bc I didn’t get anything

  
**26 March**

  
GeneralH: My apologies. As you know, I am otherwise occupied.  Please refer to the attachments. Should you have any questions or concerns please be advised that I won’t be available for chatter until later today.  
xkylorenx: you could tell me what keeps you busy  
GeneralH: Work.  
xkylorenx: ok I guessed that much  
GeneralH: We’ll have plenty of opportunity to talk at the wedding, should you want to. Have to go now.  
xkylorenx: ofc I want to!  
(deleted message)  
xkylorenx: fine!!!  
(deleted message)  
xkylorenx: ok bye

*

Ben was sitting on the kitchen counter with Hux’s cardigan over his lap like a sad, flat cat. He kept stroking it, staring into nothing, and scared Poe shitless when he came in to fix himself a coffee with Rey’s shiny new machine.

“Brooding, I see?” he said to recover from the high-pitched scream he emitted a moment ago.

“I’m...puzzled,” Ben said.

“Uh-huh.”

“My daddy is giving me whiplash with mixed signals.”

Poe grabbed some soy milk from the fridge, not really paying much attention. “Han?”

“Not Han,” Ben said meaningfully.

The soy milk was nearly dropped.

“Shit, dude. What have you gotten yourself into?”

Ben shrugged. He wasn’t going to explain that this kitchen with its hard-wood panels, huge ass windows, and lush succulents was slowly but surely becoming something he couldn’t really afford, that the whole flat was costing him too much, but he’d rather die than admit financial defeat to Poe.

Poe, the golden boy.

Poe, his mum’s should-be son.

“Isn’t a daddy like, a dom but nice?” Poe asked.

“Doms are nice. I think. Like, generally.”

“I mean,” Poe said, inserting a coffee capsule, “that it’s aftercare twenty-four-seven. Isn’t he supposed to spoil you rotten? What’s up with the mixed signals?”

“I…” Ben started, then cleared his throat. Gripped the cardigan tighter, nearly tearing a hole in it. “I think he might not really know what he’s doing. I only got a chaste kiss and a _decent_ amount of money. Where are the lavish gifts? Where’s the depraved sex? Who will satisfy my praise kink and make me feel like a motherfucing princess? I always get the cold shoulder for flirting, though god knows I’m _trying_!”

“Didn’t you make a contract?”

“We should have, but um. He was supposed to write it, wasn’t he?”

“Well, apparently, he didn’t.”  

Ben made a face at that. It was unfair to shittalk Hux. Hux was—interesting. Annoying. Perplexing. Eccentric.

Lovely.

Lonely.

“He invited me to a wedding,” Ben said.

Poe grinned at him, a bit too enthusiastic, and pointed with a coffee spoon. “Then that’s it! He wanted an escort-slash-eunuch, not a sugar baby. I bet you’ll be relieved of your duties after the event.”

Ben’s stomach sank, and he shook his head. Goddamnit. He was an adult. He shouldn’t be talking _boys_ with his flatmate. (Admittedly, his flatmate had Buzz Lightyear pyjama pants on, and he was wearing an old HIM shirt. But still.)

“Do you think I should talk to him?”

“Damn right you should.”

“I don’t want to ruin the wedding though,” Ben mused. “So maybe later.”   

“I know that song too well, Ben.”

“You know nothing,” Ben announced dramatically, and slid off the counter. He had to go and make a plan. Objective: seduce Hux before they would need to discuss why he wasn’t using Ben for sexual favours. Also: make him thirsty enough that he’d always be on his fucking phone. Once that was done, keep things breezy, don’t fall in love.

Problem solved.

 

**31 March**

 

There were...other problems.

Ben had read the wedding plan carefully, from start to finish, like, twice. He had memorised the names of the groom and bride (Archibald Cardinal and Vi Moradi), the guests of honour (the ring bearer was a dog), the ceremony (which apparently included a dance-off), the dinner menu (promising); he was prepared for anything, save from one thing.

That it was a backyard wedding.

He thought it was the wrong address, although Hux had sent an Uber for him (the driver had a battered Honda that smelt like Coca-cola bubblegum, but Ben was past expecting a limo with a chauffeur.) Still, he didn’t think it’d be a friendly, _intimate_ gathering, with less than forty people in attendance. He was dressed for a black tie event, and thought he wouldn’t have to _mingle_. He held onto his printed invitation for dear life, but no one bothered to check if he was on the guest list, because _there was no guest list_ ; within the first minute of his arrival, he’d been introduced to literally everybody.

A grim looking man with a greying ginger beard claimed he was called Brendol Hux. But surely, that had to be a coincidence. He was gripping Ben’s hand in an apparent attempt of murder. “Bride or groom?” he barked.

“Um,” Ben said with an alarmed grin. Brendol was shorter than him, but was effectively backing him into the white fence. “I’m with H—Armitage.”

“Ah. He’s late, as always.”

“He’s usually... incredibly punctual.”

“Do you claim to know him better than I do?” Brendol asked. Ben laughed, but it wasn’t a joke. Shitting hell, the guy was intense.

Ben wasn’t going to let anybody out-intense him. He pulled up to his full height, and tried to look as threatening as a man framed by tea roses could be.

“I know him quite well,” he said, “I’m his boyfriend.”  

Except he wasn’t. And he wasn’t sure that was their _story_. What if Hux wanted to pass him as a business partner, a friend, or a fiancé? Brendol made a face, but before he could say anything, a hand landed on his shoulder.

“Papa!” Hux called. He and Ben were painfully mismatched: Hux had a light blue blazer on and tan trousers rolled up to show off a pair of casual loafers. His pocket square was polka-dotted. Surely, Brendol was aware that his son was gay. He had to be. “I see you met Kylo,” he said, taking Ben’s side by the fence. Ben’s heart immediately started beating faster. “He’s my boyfriend.”

“So I’ve been told,” Brendol said. Hux’s nose twitched with annoyance. So he wanted to do the big reveal himself. Marvellous. Ben hadn’t been here for more than five minutes and he had already messed up something big. “It’s not polite to arrive separately,” Brendol went on, looking from one to the other.

“I came straight from work. I sent a car for Kylo.”

“Is ‘Kylo’ some sort of...pet name?”

Before Ben could answer, Hux said with painful confidence, “No, that’s what he’s called. Kylo Ren. Rather unusual, isn't it?”

“That’s not how he introduced himself,” Brendol said.

Okay. Six minutes. Two major fuckups. Ben looked over Brendol’s shoulder, trying to come up with an escape plan. If he kicked over the barbecue to divert attention and jumped over the long line of tables, he had a chance to make a break for the exit, which was decorated with bright balloons. He had the childish idea that if he grabbed enough of them, he could just float away from his problems. He chose to take Hux’s hand instead, and squeeze it. He wasn’t sure why he did it.

“It’s complicated,” he said. “I’m in the process of a name change.”

“Have something to hide?”

“No, sir.” The smile he gave Brendol was unnerving enough to have him mutter something about beer, and fuck off promptly. Good. Ben prided himself with the ability to give off some serious serial-killer vibes when he wanted to. Even when he didn’t.

They finally had a five-meter radius of privacy, so he turned to Hux and got hold of his shoulders. He had missed this mess of an idiot. He wasn’t going to tell him.

“We need to get our story straight,” he mumbled.

Hux scowled and shook off his hands. “I didn’t come here to write a screenplay. We met online, that should be enough. It’s nobody’s business anyhow.”

“Did you really think I’d use my real name on a—on the website?”

“You had a made-up surname,” Hux hissed. “Who _does_ that?”

“A lot of people, actually.”

“What’s your actual name?”

“Ben Solo.”

Hux muttered something inaudible, and ran his fingers through his hair. He did something with it—it was slicked back, held in the merciless grip of wax. Ben liked the soft swoop of it better, but it was obvious that Hux had made an effort.

“You look great,” he said, leaning in to whisper it into Hux’s ear. He felt him shiver. He was so damn responsive. If he could only, if he could _ever_ get his hands on him—

“Stop it,” Hux mumbled, but pulled closer. Ben couldn’t tell if it was for show, that he hoped that Brendol was watching or the other guests could see that he hadn’t come alone, but he enjoyed Hux’s closeness anyway.

“For fifty I’ll beat your dad with a folded chair,” Ben said. It was a bold joke (and more of an offer than a joke), but Hux snorted.

“Let’s hope it won’t come to that.”

“What’s a wedding without a scandal?”

“I should hope we have caused enough scandal as it is,” Hux said, stepping away to look for Brendol. He was chatting up a bridesmaid by the ceremony arch. She looked ready to use one of the colourful ribbons to tenderly strangle him. “I’d never have dared to introduce him to a real boyfriend,” Hux mused.  

“Haha, yeah,” Ben said. It shouldn’t have hurt.

_Rule number one: you can be fond of him, but god help you if you start having a soft spot for your daddy._

_Rule number two: it’s not your place to ever be jealous._

_Rule number three: you’ll always be the other (wo)man; better get used to that, princess!_

The guidebook of SpoilMeDaddy had really thought of everything.

*

Hux didn’t give a shit about the ceremony, which was a relief. He was on his phone the whole time, making a half-assed attempt to hide the fact. Ben occupied himself with watching him when Hux wasn’t looking, too engrossed in work related emails. He had such a nice profile, a round chin, a curved mouth, a cute nose, and pale eyelashes long enough to press against the lenses of his glasses. Sure, Ben could’ve found a more experienced _investor_ , but he seriously doubted he could’ve found somebody half this pretty. And they got along painfully well; whenever Hux looked up, they shared a glance: a wordless commentary about the cheesy vows and all the fucking crying.

Ben felt like the two of them were above the crowd of sobbing friends and relatives. They had private jokes without even opening their mouths, just a tilt of the head ( _can you believe this shit?_ ) or an eyeroll ( _heteros, right?_ )—and perfect understanding. However giddy it made Ben, it had a sourness to it. They could’ve been friends; they could’ve been something _real_.

Once Cardinal and Moradi were finally declared lawfully wedded, dinner began: it was a potluck system, but the items were as advertised—black bean pasta salad, butternut squash and wild rice, hummus and taboon bread.

Hux watched Ben take generous servings, the paper plate bending under the weight of the heaps of steaming, fragrant food, and asked softly, “Are you vegetarian?”

“Vegan,” Ben beamed. “But I eat fish, because I hate the fuckers.”

Hux looked him over wordlessly, helping himself to some curry. “How do you, well, how do you maintain your—physique with a diet like that?”

“Supplements, protein shake, and combat crunch bars,” Ben listed.  

“Ah. All right. Well, I won’t judge you for your lifestyle choices.”

“Oh, you will. You will judge the shit out of me.”

Hux smiled at him—sunlight in his hair, squinting slightly—and Ben wanted to kiss him so badly, telling himself it wouldn’t be different than that quick peck after the cinema, that it’d be for their audience, that he was _expected_ to do it—

“What the hell is that on your plate anyway,” Hux said, almost breaking the spell, if it wasn’t for that hushed tone he used. Bedroom-volume. A secret whisper in the middle of the cheerful crowd.

“Wild rice?”

“Why is it called that? Does it bite?”

The flat joke was followed by a bashful smile. Ben should’ve laughed, but he was overcome with something unbearably tender for a moment.

“C’mhere,” he mumbled, and got some rice on the fork he offered to Hux. Uncertain, he bent forward and put it in his mouth. With his eyes downcast and cheeks hollow Hux looked like he was nibbling on something _else_ , then he _had_ to make a pleased little sound at the back of his throat as he swallowed.

“Shit,” Ben said, and blurted out, “I wish you could blow and shag me right _here_.”

Hux nearly choked on the rice, but he looked more shocked than appalled or anything else, and Ben remembered it was the first time he had made such an explicit remark offline. Hux parted his lips to say something, face red; fuck, if it was working, it’d change everything, it’d be so easy—but Hux’s eyes darted over Ben’s shoulder, and he didn’t have to guess who was approaching them.

“Can’t a man get some beef here? For shame,” Brendol was complaining, loud enough that some of the guests lingering by the table shot him a disapproving glance, but then realised who he was, and turned their attention elsewhere. He looked a proper embarrassment with his crooked tie and yellowing collar, but walked with a sense of self-importance and was surprisingly well poised.

“They have chicken,” Hux said, voice rather hoarse.

“So what? Is chicken any good for a Yorkie? They only have vegan puddings!”

“Do they?” Ben asked, and helped himself to a serving. He could feel Brendol’s disapproving glance, and relished in it.

“I bet it was Vi’s idea,” Brendol grumbled. “She’s very _new age._ Have you seen her dress?”

“It was heavily featured in the event,” Hux replied, making Ben chuckle. Brendol snorted, but he wasn't amused.

“Well, smartass, riddle me this, why is it no longer fashionable to wear a veil, huh? What’s wrong with a veil?”

“From what I can tell, it’s still fashionable, Victoria just chose not to—”

“It’s a disgrace, that’s what it is,” Brendol went on as if he didn’t hear Hux say anything. He definitely had a selective hearing. He pushed his fork into a chunk of salmon, killing it instantly (it was, well, already dead, but Ben could recognise the murderous intent). “Not a decent place to sit either,” he complained. “I _told_ Cardinal they could afford a restaurant reservation. Barbecue on a wedding is American nonsense—and no finger-foods or sandwiches either, how am I supposed to eat this _standing_?”

“Look around for tips,” Hux advised dryly. Brendol made a face at him, and turned to Ben who was quietly enjoying his meal and the hot tea Hux was serving.

“Did Armitage tell you how he met the groom?” he asked. Ben quickly glanced at the man with gleaming, gold skin, an easy smile and velvety hair, and thought, _please don’t be his ex, I can’t compete, you look sweet._

(Rule number two: it’s not your place to— but what did it matter.)

“Yes, haha, he sat on me, what a funny story,” Hux mumbled.

“It was during sparring at school,” Brendol recalled as his son poked at his food unhappily. “Armitage has always been a lightweight, awkward, and skinny, but he could land some mean punches. Cardinal didn’t want to get beaten up, but didn’t want to hit him either—he knew he’d break Armitage’s bones if he so much as looked at him, so he got him to the ground, and—”

“Whoa, you went to military school?” Ben chimed in, timing the remark to interrupt the punchline.

Before Hux could answer, Brendol scoffed. “How does your friend not know this? Aren’t you two supposed to be rather _chummy_?”

“I left when I was eighteen, it hardly matters anymore,” Hux said. “It’s not a significant—”

“It’s not _significant_?”

“—part of my life.”  

“You got discharged, young man!”

“Yes, that’s why it’s not relevant to who I am now, as an adult,” Hux went on. His voice was getting shrill. It shouldn’t have been sexy. It shouldn’t have made Ben want to protect him at all costs. Especially since he could clearly stand his ground.

“Being sickly—” Brendol started, but got interrupted.

“And I’m sorry that medicine is not advanced enough to treat leukopenia sufficiently, I’m sure it is my fault somehow.”

“He also has asthma,” Brendol told Ben in a tone between complaint and gossip.

“I didn’t get discharged for being asthmatic,” Hux spat.  

All Ben could think of was his username, GeneralH. It must’ve hurt more than he let on. He made sure Hux was looking at him and said gently, “As an art curator your only medical concern is not to sneeze on the paintings, what a relief.”

He managed to make Hux smile; that was success.

“You left the university?” Brendol hissed.

That was...bad.

*  

The evening found Hux nursing a bottle of champagne on a folding chair. A tent was erected for dancing, with fairy lights and ivy; it looked rather lovely in a Pinterest sort of way, but Hux didn’t seem tempted to boogie to Bowie. Ben sat beside him, patting his back half-heartedly, unsure what more he could do.

Apparently, Hux used to be an art history lecturer at UCL until very recently; he had gone on a sabbatical to get some goddamn rest and pursue his passion for art curation. One year later, he was in charge of acquiring, collecting, and cataloguing paintings for First Order Gallery’s massive collection, making sure that they were properly cared for, researching the artworks, writing articles on them, and getting those published. He had explained to Brendol—with a rather defensive edge—that he couldn’t help that he was _good_ at his job.

That it ended up taking over his life.

His phone buzzed in his pocket; he peered at the screen, hissed, and opened up an endless Excel spreadsheet. He caught Ben staring, and his lips tugged downwards.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “This must be very boring for you.”

“I don’t mind.” Ben pushed the thought of an upcoming deadline for an oak casket aside.

“You can go,” Hux pressed on. “It’s all right. I would still pay the agreed amount.”

“I won’t leave you,” Ben said.

Hux looked almost pained. Ben got hold of his hand, the one clutching the phone. “We could make it fun,” he promised, tugging lightly. “Come on, dance with me.”

“What? No, I don’t know how—What is this anyway, New Order? I _can’t_.”

“But do you want to?” Ben asked. When Hux didn’t answer, he leant in closer, capturing his attention before he could look back at his phone. “Come on, let’s be embarrassing white men together. Just for one song, huh? Let them see you having fun. Then we can continue hitting the bar or fuck off. All right?”

Hux nodded without thinking, but was hesitant when he got to his feet and pocketed his phone. “I’m not sure,” he muttered. “It’s—there’s been some, I don’t know how to explain, _changes_ , I should really check the updated spreadsheet and message Badger and Fox as soon as possible—”

“I promise I won’t go full manic pixie dream boy on you, one dance and then back to worshipping capitalism,” Ben said, guiding him towards the dancefloor that had a reasonable number of couples twirling around to the dreamy beats of _True Faith_.

“I told you I was busy, it’s really not an excuse—with a job like this you don’t have a day off, and I know I could have it worse—”

“Hey.” Ben turned to face him, placing his hands on his slouched shoulders. The fairy lights were twinkling above them, and the speakers crooned _I feel so extraordinary, something’s got a hold on me_. “I won’t ever—I know what I bargained for, okay? I’m starting to get the hang of it, anyway. I value your work. I really do.”

 _The chances are we've gone too far, you took my time and you took my money_ , the song went on. Hux laughed, a bit high-pitched. “How ironic,” he said, nodding to the speakers as he got a hold of Ben’s waist. Ben gulped as they took the first step, just swaying around gently to the music.

“Is that how you feel?”

“Rather the opposite, I feel like it’s worth it. You...put up with a lot, Solo.”

Ben shook his head, getting a bit hot and bothered by Hux using his surname. “I erhm, I don’t. I’m not _putting up_ , I—am fine.”

Hux scoffed, not believing him. It was neither the time nor the place to discuss their problems, Ben reasoned. He could hear the spirit of Poe booing him, but alluding to the nature of their relationship with so many people around might already have been too much.

He focused on Hux instead, the way his hands started wandering up Ben’s back. He focused on his _plan_. He could get what he wanted. He could get fucked. Get the attention he needed—just a little bit more of it, he didn’t need it constantly, just a bite, a taste.

A new song started (fucking Duran Duran) and it didn’t even occur to Hux leave the dancefloor; he just grabbed Ben’s hand, fingers interlaced, and made him jump around to _Wild Boys_. They must’ve looked like complete idiots, but Ben didn’t have a care in the world—not when Hux’s hair became so disorderly, his glasses sitting lopsided on his nose, face flushed down to his neck. He threw in some awkward disco moves which were too hilarious to bear. Ben doubled over with laughter, then got to his knees to collect himself—just for a moment—but as he looked up, Hux stepped on his shoulder.

The guy was incredibly flexible.

He also looked amazing from this angle, effectively _stepping on_ Ben. He probably intended it to be the part of the wacky choreography, but realised what he was doing halfway through and just—stood there, foot pressed to Ben’s shoulder. His eyes were wide, pupils fat. Ben got dizzy with a hot flush of want.

They stared at each other, panting, and Ben was certain that if it had been just the two of them—that if he moved closer, bent forward—Hux would let him bury his heated face into his groin, smell it, lick it, whine and beg until Hux got his cock out. He’d eat him up alive, he’d suck him off so good, make Hux mark him, come all over his face, let Ben jerk off as he did it—

Hux pulled back, and the song was over.

*

GeneralH: Please let me know if you got home safe.  
xkylorenx: on my way!  
xkylorenx: ...aaaand got home. home sweet home.  
xkylorenx: fuck I think Rey nicked my charger. again.  
GeneralH: Thank you for the evening. I had a good time.  
GeneralH: Which was...unexpected.  
xkylorenx: I’ll see you again soon, yeah?  
xkylorenx: no pressure! lol  
GeneralH: That is to be seen, I’m afraid. It looks like I might have to catch a flight to Sydney.  
xkylorenx: ok. have a nice trip!  
xkylorenx: lemme know when you’ll be back  
(deleted message)  
GeneralH: I think I failed to mention that you looked very lovely today.  
xkylorenx: lol haha don’t I always  
GeneralH: Actually, you do.  
GeneralH: You know, Solo, I never thought someone like you would be interested in me.  
GeneralH: I’m sorry if this is embarrassing to you. I had too much to drink.  
xkylorenx: why would it be embarrassing?  
xkylorenx: what do you mean “someone like me”?  
xkylorenx: I’m def interested tho ;) lol  
xkylorenx: are you here?  
(deleted message)

 

**1 April**

  
xkylorenx: hux I gotta tell you something  
xkylorenx: it’s very important and I should’ve told you this sooner but the time just never seemed right  
xkylorenx: but we really need to discuss this  
xkylorenx: hux?  
xkylorenx: I’m gay

**2 April**

 

xkylorenx: I’m disappointed not to have gotten news of your pregnancy. seems like you don’t celebrate our most sacred holiday.  
xkylorenx: okay I’ll stop joking around and spamming your inbox  
xkylorenx: lemme know how the Sydney thing is going?  
xkylorenx: thinking of you. signed, devil of the dancefloor xoxo.

 

**5 April**

 

xkylorenx: we really need to talk tho.

 

**15 April**

 

Ben was lying on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket. He didn’t plan on moving anytime soon. Or ever. Except for tomorrow because he really needed to finish a crib and a mahogany coffin, but after that: no more movement.

Of course, Rey _had_ to ruin his plans. She barged into the living room, still in her work clothes, smelling of sweat and gasoline. (She worked at Han’s car repair as a mechanic. Not that Ben was jealous or anything. Not like he couldn’t have learnt how to do it himself. He could have, if he hadn’t been sent to Luke’s fucking college. He had managed to drop out because he’d skipped classes to master his grandfather’s craft. It was _fine._ )

“Move,” Rey said. She had some cider with her, two bottles. That implied company. Ben peered at the entrance, and sure as hell, Finn was lingering there. Finn was dating somebody in this flat. Ben just couldn’t figure out who.

“Hi,” Ben grunted while Rey attempted to nudge him over with a kick.

“Hi,” Finn said, not looking anywhere. He’d been terrified of Ben since that one time he yelled at him. And, possibly, broke something. It was all a blur. And the other times, when he had merely raised his voice, didn’t count.

“Come _on_ ,” Rey nagged. “Wednesday is movie night, you _know_ that.”

“Why would I pay any attention to the senseless schedule of your meager existence—Stop _kicking_ me!”

Rey bent down to inspect him better, squinting into his face. “Are you sick?” she asked on a tone which implied that if he was, she’d wrestle him to the ground and shove an Advil up his nose.

“It’s the curse,” Ben muttered.

“What curse?” Finn asked, venturing closer. Look at the brave little soldier.

Ben sat up, pulling the white blanket tighter around himself. He had fashioned a hood out of it and everything. “I am being ghosted,” he said in a sombre tone, “so I am cursed to become a ghost myself.”

“Oh my god.” Rey rolled her eyes and went ahead to set up Netflix. Finn’s interest, however, had been piqued.

“I’m sorry, who’s ghosting you?”

“Don’t mind him, he’s a diva,” Rey warned. “Every time he’s moaning about someone crossing him over, turns out it was his fault all along. I learnt that the hard way.”  

“It’s different.” Ben adjusted the blanket with exaggerated self-consciousness. “I’m bound to haunt this sofa because the one who hath abandoned me is contractually obliged to care for me—and yet! And yet!”

Finn didn’t dare laugh at his overdramatics, and Rey was over it. Ben thought it’d get a smile from Hux, but Hux wasn’t here. That was the whole issue.

“Is this a family thing?” Finn asked, crossing his arms.

Ben waited a beat before he said, “It’s about my sugar daddy.”

It even got a reaction from Rey, who looked at him with something akin to pity. Finn, however, was just confused.

“But then how is he _ghosting_ you? Sugar daddies are not usually required to keep in touch,  you just message him when you need something and he messages you when _he_ needs stuff, so—ghosting?”

Now Rey regarded Finn with troubled interest. Finn grinned at her in slight panic. Rey arched a single eyebrow.

“He used to at least message me semi-regularly,” Ben explained, “but we had a date and he fucked off to Sydney and since then it’s been radio silence.”

“Are you worried something happened to him?”

“I’m worried something happened to _us_.”   

“There’s no _us_ ,” Finn said softly. “I don’t think it’s that type of relationship.”

“Maybe I should show up at his workplace unannounced,” Ben mused, getting up from the sofa. He dragged the blanket along like a mantle. “Bring flowers or some shit, prove to him that I care.”

“Literally don’t do that,” Rey said. “It’s invasive and only manipulative dickheads make such moves.”

“If he’s not replying to your messages,” Finn joined in, “then maybe you should be messaging someone who does.”

It was good advice, but it made Ben’s blood boil. He wasn’t going to—he still had his profile, but apart from Hux, only two men added him, and both of them were bears. Ben wasn’t _interested_. He wasn’t going to actively start searching, either, not when Hux—

He could joke about him all he wanted, but Hux was really fucking _important_. He wanted to be there for him. Even if he wasn’t needed.

He still had his cardigan. At this point he was holding it hostage.

“Come on, we’re watching _The Open House_ ,” Rey said, almost apologetic. “It’s really bad, you’ll love it.”

Ben shook his head, well aware how miserable he must’ve looked with all the theatrics dropped.

“I think I’ll call it a day,” he said.

Another day without messages.

Apparently, what happened at the wedding didn’t change anything.

At least his bank account was happy.

Yay.

 

**16 April**

 

The woodshop was Ben’s favourite place in the world. (Graveyards were a close second. He’d always been a weird kid.) He could just mind his own shit at the workbench, enjoy the scent of sawdust and listen to the mechanical noises of drills, grinders, and his prized slot mortising machine, all whirring or buzzing or whizzing as his apprentices worked for their money’s worth. He spared no expense: the workshop was huge but homely, with large windows to let the warm light in; he’d made most of the furniture himself, using his grandfather’s hand tools. The problem was with the fucking machinery. Those bitches didn’t come cheap. Neither did the supply, or the mortgage.

It was worth it. It was therapeutic. Some days, he needed to hammer the shit out of the poor lumber. Other days, he enjoyed craving delicate little details. Destruction and creation. Balance. Yes.

He was polishing the coffin’s lid with his favourite sander, mind blessedly empty as the machine hummed in his hand. He could see his vague reflection already. He gave himself a proud smile. Then the door opened with a chime.

Frowning, he turned to the entrance, spotting Karen in her power suit.

“Gentleman here to see you,” she announced.

“I don’t have an appointment,” Ben said, but Karen had already disappeared. Fucking typical.

“Take it over, yeah?” he said to Aaren. He passed René with a muttered apology and headed to the shopfront, fuming. He went as he was, shirtless, sweaty, safety glasses and gloves in place, jeans dirty. He hoped it’d send a message. The message was that he hated to be bothered. That’s why he hired interns to handle orders and charm potential buyers. He was incapable of doing that.

Except lingering by the showroom and looking slightly alarmed by its contents was not a grieving relative, but Hux.

Ben knew he should be mad at him. That he had every right to be. He’d been—tossed aside after a fun night, left to his own devices now that he’d served his function of pissing off Brendol, with no contract or even a verbal agreement to help him navigate this mess he’d tumbled into. That Hux had the _gall_ to show up here before he even called was presumptuous and, indeed, invasive. And yet—well.

Hux was wearing a shirt with the top two buttons undone.

He looked good.

Also: Ben missed him.

“Hello,” Hux said, a bit choked-off. Adjusted his glasses. Visibly struggled to keep his eyes on Ben’s face. Ben leant against the workshop’s door frame, casually flexing.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“So.” Hux cleared his throat. Looked around. Back to Ben, pouting slightly. “I made a mistake in abruptly cutting off contact after the wedding, and I take full responsibility,” he announced, and peered around again as if he expected someone to challenge him. Karen wasn’t going to. She pretended to be invisible, hiding behind her laptop.

Ben waited a few beats to assess this, but all he could think was _Hux is here, Hux is here, Hux is here_.

“Why are you here?” he asked. His voice was still too gentle; how could it not be? All he wanted was to talk to Hux again. They were talking now. So what did it matter that he had nearly broken his heart?

“I came to apologise,” Hux said, looking so fucking—earnest and scared, ready to be shouted at.

Maybe Ben should have done that. But the last thing he wanted was a breakup or more time apart. Hux was drawing him in already. Ben felt the tingle of his chaste kiss on his lips, the press of his hips as they danced, the warm weight of him in the cinema. He wanted him to tell him about Sydney. Talk about how the exhibition was going. Talk about everything and nothing.

“I accept the apology,” Ben said; Hux looked like he was going to interrupt, so he rushed to finish, “so how do we go on from here?”

He should’ve said, _you cannot do this to me again_ and _you really hurt me, you know that_? Instead, he watched Hux take off his satchel with an odd, nostalgic pang—as if he’d seen him do it a countless times over, as if it didn’t all start merely a month ago.

“I suppose we’ll have to figure that out and discuss it at length in a more appropriate setting,” Hux said as he pulled out a cardboard box. “Rules must be set. Until then—I got this for you; it’s not in your name, I couldn’t quite do that, but it can—they can figure it out, if you don’t take my word for it that whatever you decide you can keep it.”

It was a MacBook Air. The newest model.

Hux remembered a side remark from their first damn chat. _Can’t you get me a Macbook instead._ Fucking hell.

“Fucking hell,” Ben said.

“I’m sorry if it’s too much,” Hux said, oddly defensive, still holding out the box, skinny arm trembling slightly. “I want you to have it.”

Oh no. He was being bossy now.

“I will also compensate for the lost time,” he said, “and should you really want to move forward, we will work out a method so you never become financially challenged in my unannounced absence—”

Ben wasn’t really listening. He stepped closer, and Hux instinctively raised the box, like a shield. Ben let it press to his chest as he leant in, until their lips were nearly touching.

“Come to the workshop,” Ben said.

“Can we talk there?” Hux asked. With the door open, the noises were almost unbearable.

Ben hummed. “You can _be there_. With me. That’s all I need.”

“I’ll have to get back,” Hux said, defeated, but holding on with his gaze, almost stomping on Ben’s feet in an attempt to be nearer. “I just wanted to drop by. See if you would...see me.”

“Then stay a minute. Stay ten.”

Hux looked him over, finally allowing his gaze to wander. Ben never thought that just being seen could be this thrilling; the way Hux looked at him made him feel like he mattered.

“I’ll stay forty,” Hux said, “and I’m going to be late.”

*

When Ben offered to walk him back to the gallery, Hux didn’t object. They strolled side by side, hands in their pockets. Ben kept glancing at him: was he really back? Did he really have him again?

 _If only we met under different circumstances_ , Ben thought. Eyes meeting across the pond in a park. Hands brushing on the tube. A stranger behind glass, walking past a window, not knowing he was being observed. Ben would’ve fallen for him. Now he didn’t have the luxury.

It was business. A transaction of affections.

“What are you thinking about?” Hux asked. They passed charming brown brick houses with their white windows wide open, shadowy streets with blooming trees, endless scenes of opportunities—missed, missed, missed.

“Work stuff,” Ben offered an easy lie.

“Your work is beautiful,” Hux said, and when Ben huffed, he pressed on. “It _is_. I’m glad I could see it. You and your team really have talent.”

“Well, I could have been an architectural technician if I didn’t drop out of my uncle’s college, but carpentry is fine I guess.”

“Would you rather be what your family thought you were supposed to become?”

Ben couldn’t answer for a moment. He peered at Hux, who kept his eyes on the winding road. He had that London walk a Virginia boy like Ben could never master: determined, self-assured, all too fast.

“I guess they thought my only shot was to haul my ass overseas and have my uncle take me under his wings,” he said. “But I made my own way, in the end.”

“You made the right call. I’m proud of you. I’m proud of the work you do.”  

“I’m—proud of it too,” Ben said, warmed all over; praise was a hot spring shower after the thunderstorm of separation.

He could already see skyscrapers in the distance. They’d follow City Road until they could smell water, turn left on Wharf Road, say a rushed goodbye by the small docks. Ben needed time, and that was a thing Hux wouldn’t, couldn’t give him.

“Why haven’t you answered my messages?” he blurted out. He had to know.

Hux looked—disturbed, remorseful, almost angry. “I was afraid,” he said darkly.

“Of what?”

Hux opened his mouth, closed it again. Ben rounded him, walking backwards so he could look at his face and annoy the shit out of fellow pedestrians.

“I mean, were you afraid of losing it?” he guessed. “So you just went ahead and tried to—cut the ties, have the pain under control—”

“Is that something you would do? No, I didn’t think—that far ahead, didn’t realise how significant my silence had gotten as time…” Hux trailed off. Seemed lost. “I was going to answer.” Trailed off again. Met Ben’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said flatly.

“It’s okay,” Ben said, and thought, _I don’t understand, I’m missing something, what am I missing—_

“It’s not what’s been agreed,” Hux mumbled, almost to himself.

The smell of still water was heavy in the air.

“We never made an agreement, like we should have.”

“Well, it’s been implied that I would be more in control of the situation,” Hux said. “I made you believe I’d take care of you, and I failed you. You could’ve gotten in some sort of trouble, and I wasn’t there—”

“Hey,” Ben said with a weak grin. Spun on his heels so he could bump his shoulder to Hux’s. “I’m an adult with a day job, all right? I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. It’s, ugh, it’s just a certain lifestyle that’s on the line. You know that, right?”  

There was lightning in Hux’s eyes. “Of course I know! Still, you’ve been so good, waiting for me, you didn’t _give up on me_ , you have—what?”

“Call me a good boy again?” Ben managed. Apparently, shouted compliments were a thing for him. Who knew.

Hux stopped, shoulders dropped. They were near Wharf Road now, heavy cranes moving in the distance. “My good boy,” he said; it sounded forced, unconvinced. Ben cupped his face. Made him look at him.

“Just yours.”

Ben felt Hux’s shiver at his fingertips. He couldn’t tell which one of them leant in for a kiss first; Hux licked at his lips, made them part for him—swallowed his moan. It was a dance of heat, and a promise.

“I’ll be in touch,” Hux whispered wetly against his tingling lips. “I will, you must be rewarded—”

“Fuck, Hux—”

“I’m yours too, alright? I’m all yours now.”

Ben was clutching Hux’s blazer, pulling him closer, deeper; wishing he could keep him.

*

GeneralH: This message marks a tabula rasa. Future discussions will be regulated by a contract that is to be drafted upon our next meeting, and will be developed together.  
xkylorenx: dude it’s midnight, did you just get home?  
GeneralH: No, I’m still at my office  
xkylorenx: what keeps you there this long?  
xkylorenx: is it vampires  
GenralH: :)  
xkylorenx: oh my god that was an emoji they got to you already  
GeneralH: No, idiot  
GeneralH: Mr. Solo  
GeneralH: I tried to express my amusement  
xkylorenx: you can call me babydoll it’s okay  
GeneralH: I’d rather not if that’s agreeable to you?  
xkylorenx: just try it  
xkylorenx: and tell me about the vampires  
xkylorenx: is one of them called lestat I’ve been meaning to deck the guy  
xkylorenx: just fucking deck him  
GeneralH: No  
GeneralH: Babydoll  
xkylorenx: :D!  
GeneralH: I’m not being withheld by the undead, but an accident including a dead blow hammer.  
xkylorenx: are u alright??  
GeneralH: Physically, yes, mentally, not quite.  
GeneralH: I wasn’t injured, but I lost a carpenter.  
xkylorenx: oh my god  
xkylorenx: he died  
GeneralH: He’s currently at St Pancras, and I’m currently at the edge of a breakdown, because we lost a day thanks to all the unpleasantries with the hammer.    
xkylorenx: well I happen to know a carpenter who can free up his schedule  
GeneralH: Wouldn’t it be untoward from me to ask your help?  
xkylorenx: no?  
GeneralH: The job is beneath your talent.  
GeneralH: Babydoll.    
xkylorenx: okay maybe go back calling me solo  
xkylorenx: what’s the job?  
GeneralH: Setting up pre-ordered room dividers.     
xkylorenx: pffff  
xkylorenx: easy peasy lemon squeezy  
xkylorenx: I’ll swing by tomorrow with my team and we’ll be finished in a blink  
GeneralH: Are you quite aware of the size of this place?  
xkylorenx: yeah I’ve been there but it’s fine  
GeneralH: I would be...much obliged. I’m forwarding you the discussions with the former carpenter.  
GeneralH: He charged £24 per hour, but I’d add a little bonus for you.  
xkylorenx: you’ve been robbed  
xkylorenx: is it a naughty bonus? ;)  
xkylorenx: (is it too soon?)  
GeneralH: I was having £300 in mind.  
xkylorenx: wow  
xkylorenx: ok do I love my bank account or my hole more  
GeneralH: Would it be too much trouble if we deliberated this question tomorrow? I promise we will talk about everything. I just really need to make some calls to update the team.  
xkylorenx: it’s MIDNIGHT don’t PHONE PEOPLE  
GeneralH: Ring-ring-ring.  
xyklorenx: you’re a sociopath <3  
GeneralH: I’ll take that as a compliment.  
GeneralH: Babydoll.  
xkylorenx: STOP  
GeneralH: (Never.)

 

**17 April**

 

GeneralH: As preparation for our first draft of a contract, please consider the following which I hope to discuss face-to-face:  
1\. What are your financial expectations in terms of allowance, gifts, shopping sprees, vacations and housing?  
2\. When would you prefer to receive payments?  
3\. Are you still comfortable with abrupt meetups?  
4\. Where would you prefer to meet in private (hotel, my place, your place)?  
5\. Where would you prefer to meet in public (coffee shop, teahouse, pub, museum, theatre, cinema, parks)?  
6\. How long do you anticipate the arrangement will last?  
7\. How public do you want to be about said arrangement?  
8\. What do you consider a dealbreaker?  
xkylorenx: can I have my coffee first  
GeneralH: No.   
xkylorenx: why does this list look familiar   
xkylorenx: wait   
xkylorenx: it’s from the spoilmedaddy FAQ   
xkylorenx: did you just look it up now  
GeneralH: No, I just refreshed my memory. Of course I have read the FAQ before.   
GeneralH: In fact, I’ve read it so many times certain phrases might be embedded in my memory.   
xkylorenx: lemme shower + grab my coffee  
xkylorenx: lemme come over  
xkylorenx: lemme kiss your lying mouth  
GeneralH: How dare you.  
GeneralH: I thought you had work to do here, Solo.  
xkylorenx: yeah  
xkylorenx: nailing stuff  
xkylorenx: getting nailed  
xkylorenx: I’m a pro at both ;)    
xkylorenx: see you, daddy <3 

*

Ben prepared with bursting enthusiasm, that kind of dizzy, hazy excitement he hadn’t felt in a long while before a date or a hookup. He made a casual attempt at jerking off in the shower, but Rey kept banging on the door which effectively murdered his erection; she finally managed to get in with a skeleton key, barked at him to put something on, and started washing her teeth while Ben made himself scarce, tail between his legs.

Having been interrupted and left unsatisfied only urged him to be his best, most fuckable self. He got the vague impression that Hux wouldn’t appreciate if he turned up in hot pants or in any way bare-assed, so he begrudgingly put on modest shorts, boots, and a tank top, pulling his hair back into a partial ponytail like a professional. A professional who had death from a tarot deck on his shirt and his legs on lewd display. Still.

He and his team were miserably out of place in the top-notch rooms of First Order Gallery, which was minimalist, oppressively immense, and basking in sharp lights, like a spaceship. To Ben’s disappointment they weren’t greeted by Hux, but a certain Miss Phasma who made them sign a contract and showed them their tasks. The polished, black panels were waiting for them in neat stacks, still wrapped.

“I was thinking anchor bolts, battens for the joints, and blind nailing,” Ben said, but Phasma raised a well-manicured hand to stop him.

“Spare me the details,” she said. Ben and René exchanged a glance. She left with a click of killer heels; her steps had a metallic echo in the vast exhibition room.

“Charming,” Kieren noted.

Ben was starting to get anxious. He thought Hux would be here, that he’d watch him work like he did the other day, just spend some time by his side—and then, hopefully, fuck him within an inch of his life.

“Let’s get this over with,” he grunted, and got his phone to put on some music; he noticed he had a message waiting for him.

_GeneralH: Will be with you shortly. Tell me if you need anything._

_I need you_ , he typed out. There was a buzz.

_GeneralH: Soon._

Everybody hated working on the project, but he couldn’t stop grinning. Crystal Castles was blasting, he was whistling and sweating, feeling that pleasant ache in his muscles he liked so much and that fire in his belly he hadn’t experienced since his teenage years. Hux had this effect on him to make him dumb and giddy, make him feel high, and Ben had no idea what the fuck it was, but it was divine.

“ _I’m not in love,_ ” Aaren hummed along to the song.

“ _I’m not in love_ ,” Ben joined the duet, thinking, _I better not fucking be, that’s the rules, I better—_

 _“We’re not in love,”_ Kieren and René shouted as they hauled up a panel; Ben dramatically swooned against it, making them laugh and struggle with the weight.

“ _We’re not in love!_ ” he yelled from the top of his lungs.

“I see you’re...entertained,” Hux said. Ben blinked at him; he hadn’t heard him come in, but how could he, with the music screaming and all of them singing. Hux was accompanied by a gentleman with grey hair; both of them wore suits—Hux _finally had a fucking suit on_ , even though it was brownish-green tweed which made him look like a dusty nerd. Ben _liked_ that he was a nerd; the smart, sleek suit his companion had on wouldn’t have fit him at all, damn all expectations of how a sugar daddy was supposed to look like.

“Oh hush, let the boys have some fun,” the man said; his nametag read Director O. Krennic. Hux made a face at him, but when Krennic turned to him, his grimace twisted into a tight-lipped smile. It was obvious Hux needed to be on his good side. It was also obvious that Krennic knew it, and enjoyed his position immensely. He looked around as if he owned the place, then his gaze found Ben and co again.

“If I may, Armie,” he said with a lisping Australian accent, “you already have all the artwork you need. Guys, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but you look like you’ve been carved by Michelangelo!”

“Be assured that we have bigger dicks than David,” Ben shot back, arms crossed over his chest. He didn’t intend it to be flirty—quite the opposite—but Krennic chuckled, and Hux paled.

“Oh, I bet you do, big boy,” Krennic said, looking him over, eyes lingering on his sizeable bulge. Ben had been half-hard since Hux entered. He felt his face grow hot with anger; again, it was misinterpreted. “Those rosy cheeks—we have a Vigée le Brun for us.”

Hux looked horrified and humiliated. Ben shouldn’t have liked to see him like this—jealous, frightened—but he couldn’t help but add some oil to the dumpster fire.

“Like a Vigée le Brun, I don’t come cheap,” he said with a wink. That was too much for Hux. He stepped up to him swiftly, Krennic watching, the music still blaring, Ben’s apprentices balancing the panel. There was a moment of hesitation, then Hux—casually, nonchalantly—swatted Ben’s ass.

He didn’t hit hard at all, but it still made Ben gasp.

“Stop it, Mr. Krennic will think you’re up for sale,” Hux said, trying to sound jovial but coming across as painfully strained. His hand lingered, cupping a cheek, apologetic; Ben pressed into his touch eagerly, _more, more, I liked it, I fucking adore this_.

“Won’t we even have an auction?” he teased. It was the wrong thing to say; he expected a warning, playful squeeze, but Hux withdrew his hand.

“I’m afraid I’m taken,” Krennic said, looking from Ben to Hux with a smugness that Ben wanted to slap off of his face. This wasn’t about _him_ . “Be good, boys; I have a plane to catch and more offers to refuse.” With that, he sauntered to the exit, so fucking proud of himself Ben wished he could come up with something to yell after him, but all he could think of was _I’m taken as well_ —a weak retort, and hardly even true.

Hux was still very pale, digging his fingers into the flesh of his palm.

“It’s okay, I was just fooling around,” Ben attempted to explain, an unsure smile on his lips, _you know me enough to know this, right?_

“I’ll see you in my office, Solo,” Hux said. He wasn’t looking at him. “Be there in twenty minutes.” As he brushed past him, he leant in to whisper: “It’s time I showed you who you belong to.”

The words went straight to Ben’s cock.

*

Ben had no idea what to expect. Aaren wordlessly handed him a condom and a pack of lube; Kieren complained they should’ve asked to be paid upfront, because surely, they would be kicked off of the project now. Ben left them behind when the twenty minutes was up, wiping his hand on his shorts compulsively and flinching at how his boots creaked on the spotless floor.

He knocked on Hux’s unassuming door, letting out a shaky breath as Hux called “come on in.”

The office made Ben smile. It looked like Hux straight up transported his professor’s office from the university: books were everywhere, from floor to ceiling, with some statues, vases, and paintings that looked more like flea market finds and children’s drawings than million dollar masterpieces. Hux was sitting behind a massive antique desk littered with paperwork and empty cups, spread out in an armchair twice his size, a cozy throne from which he could survey his empire of odd wonders. He looked up at Ben, the screen of his tablet reflected in his glasses.

“Make yourself comfortable, I have to answer this,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” Ben began, his smile faltering as he took in Hux’s stoic face and closed-off posture.

“I’m not angry with you,” Hux said, and turned back to his tablet.

Right. Wonderful. There was that. Hux, allegedly, wasn’t mad. Ben put his hands into his pockets, refusing to take a seat (there was an unreasonable amount of chairs scattered around, one of them with a cat bed atop it). He hoped his stubbornness would prompt Hux to deal with him at his earliest convenience, but he kept bothering his tablet. Ben cleared his throat. Nothing. Okay, two could play this game.

He walked to the window behind Hux’s desk, gently brushing past his personal bubble. He made sure to arch his ass as he made a show of gazing outside and taking in the decidedly cubist houses and the uninspiring docks.

“A weird place for a gallery,” he noted. Hux immediately jumped on it.

“How so?” he asked, not looking up from his emails, but Ben knew he had his attention.

“Well, it’s not exactly the cultural hotspot of London.”

“It will be,” Hux said, and finally glanced at him. Did a double-take. Ben got hold of the windowsill, humming as he looked outside, head tilted.

“That’s your masterplan?”

“That’s my _business_ plan. No bloody tourists. More attractive to our actual damn target audience, upcoming artists, connoisseurs, and the elite—”

“The elite,” Ben repeated.

“Well. They have money.”

“But you don’t do it for the money, do you? You have a mission.”

“I won’t rest,” Hux said, eerily measured, “until Pablo Picasso is dead.”

Ben bit his lips. Opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

“Well,” he said. “He is kinda dead.”

“Is he?” Hux spat, waving at the air—finally letting go of his tablet as he indicated South. “The Tate Modern has a Picasso exhibition as we _speak_ ! _That’s_ what they come up with! What about contemporary artists? What about my students?”

“Oh,” Ben said. Hux jumped to his feet, hitting the desk with a fist.

“And Orson Krennic can eat my arse if he thinks he can make my exhibition fail!”

“Or flirt with your sugar baby,” Ben interjected. “About that—”

“Yes, about that,” Hux said, sidestepping the desk and effectively trapping Ben as he loomed closer, making him back into the window. He looked possessed, eyes wild and passionate.

 _If only I made him feel how he feels about his work_ , Ben thought with a pang of bitterness. Hux pressed even closer, hips flush against Ben’s own. He was so hard Ben could feel his dick poking at his thigh; his surprised sigh fogged up Hux’s glass.

“We’re exclusive, aren’t we?” Hux asked, breath ghosting over Ben’s lips.

“Of course we are,” he said eagerly.

“You said you were mine. Just mine. My _good boy_.”

Ben bit his lips. Fuck, this is what he needed. What he wanted. He took in the righteous tremble of Hux’s lips, fucking _ecstatic_ that he managed to provoke a reaction out of him, that he had him so near and so hard for him.  

“I’ve been bad,” he whispered, voice low and plush like velvet. “Will you punish me for it, daddy?”

He watched the crazed light go out in Hux’s eyes, who outright cringed and stepped back, breaking the delicious contact.

“I won’t pay for sex,” he muttered.

Ben swayed forward, pulled in by Hux’s nervous energy;  he stopped short when he realised what he was saying. “You have read the FAQ,” he said, somewhere between teasing and desperate. “You know that money is—”

“I know that you do this for the money, you told me on the first date,” Hux interrupted, and turned his back on him. He wandered to one of the bookshelves and got a manila folder, saying, “That’s why I’d appreciate if you didn’t—If you stopped pretending that—And wouldn’t just throw porn dialogue at me like—”

“What porn dialogue?” Ben said with a shocked little laugh, suddenly feeling too light, as if gravity was slipping away. There was no air in the room. Hux was leafing through the folder, not once looking at Ben as he pleaded, “Hey, I’m not faking it. I actually have a daddy kink. It turns me on. _You_ turn me on. I appreciate the money, sure, that’s why I _started_ , but fuck, Hux, can’t you tell that what we have now is _special_?”

“I want you to stop saying these things just because I pay you.”  

“Because you pay me?” Ben snapped, stepping forward. The desk was in the way; he pushed at it. Hux didn’t even blink as it bulked with a screech. “Fuck, Hux, I’m not a rentboy. Don’t you get it? I can choose, and I _chose you_.”

Hux’s glasses flashed as he raised his head. His eyes were shining, and he bit his lips before saying, “I wish I could believe it, which is why I ask absolute honesty in this contract, because—”

“I just told you I chose—”

“—like I was paying to date Jekyll and Hyde,” Hux went on, voice getting shrill, “except both of them are nice, both of _you_ are nice, but look at us, one moment we laugh and banter and the next you just say something so—”

“Should I stop flirting with you? Is that it?” Ben gestured widely. “Am I that shitty at it?”  

Hux huffed, and indicated the front of his pants with the contract. He was still semi-hard. “My problem is that you’re too good at it, for heaven’s sake! It’s too good, it sounds fake—”

“I told you it wasn’t fake! Hux, what the hell is going on?”

Hux tried to say something; couldn’t. His shoulders dropped, and he looked at the contract, bewildered, dazed. A soft thumping sound could be heard through the walls: Ben’s team was working on the panels.

“I’m starting to suspect,” Hux said, “that neither of us knows what’s going on.”

“So let’s find out.” Ben stepped closer. Hux let him, standing by the bookshelf; he looked wretched, wavering, a young man in beatnik clothing, soft, lean, sickly pale—not exactly daddy material; not what Ben was still pressuring him to be. He got hold of his wrists, and gently pulled him down to the floor so both of them were sitting, because Hux looked ready to faint. “It’s okay,” Ben said. “Tell me everything. I’m listening.”

Hux avoided his gaze, but their knees were touching, and he didn’t pull back as he gulped down calming breaths, Ben’s thumbs soothing circles over his prickled skin.

“I wanted a plus one,” Hux croaked. “I didn’t want to go to the wedding alone.”

“I figured that much.”

“I was fed up with the humiliation of—and being lonely—I thought I could find someone I’d actually enjoy socialising with—easy on the eyes, god forbid, funny.”

“You should’ve hired an escort,” Ben said gently. “Or whatever. Craigslist.”

Hux nodded, glancing at the contract again. “I know. I’m just—I’m a lousy liar when it comes to my father, he always finds me out. The date was getting closer and I just—I started thinking about the fastest ways to have an _actual_ relationship. The closest thing to it. I supposed I could—buy one. Not just _rent_ a person for a night but—Really find someone.”

“And you found me,” Ben said softly. His anger was draining out of him, ebbing as Hux’s despair overflowed. This balance was worth fighting for, even if fighting meant sitting on the floor and picking up the pieces of the person who was supposed to be in control.

“It’s your eyes,” Hux said.

“What about them?”

“They are brown.”

Ben waited a beat. “Yeah? Yeah, I noticed.”

“Very warm,” Hux went on. “And when you look at me I just want to believe everything you say. I thought I _knew_ what not to believe.  What was just the—sugar baby stuff. I didn’t want that. I wanted you.”

“But that’s also me,” Ben said. His grip around Hux’s wrists got tighter, clinging on hopelessly. “It was all me, it’s all me.”

“I know _now_ ,” Hux said, finally meeting his gaze. This fucking idiot was going on about Ben’s eyes when his own were fucking breathtaking, blue, green, grey, all the colours in between.

_(You can be fond of him, but god help you if you start having a spot soft for your daddy.)_

_(God help me.)_

Ben swallowed, choking on words he wasn’t supposed to say. _(I’m sorry. I like you. I like you just the way you are. I like us. Fuck the contract, whatever’s in there. I like this mess better.)_

“I felt awful whenever I made advances on you,” Hux said. “I felt like a proper fool. But when I didn’t—and when I kept rebuking you, it just felt worse. I was drunk and told you that guys like you never much liked me. You remember that, don’t you? Before I disappeared.”

“Yeah,” Ben mouthed.

Hux cleared his throat, pulled his hands back just to then touch his fingers to Ben’s, seemingly marvelling at their difference: rough and thick, soft and slim. “Guys like you,” Hux said, “are too cool for me. And there’s also the sex thing.”

“The sex thing,” Ben repeated. Hux caressed his palm, looking at it so intently as if he was trying to read Ben’s fortune, see if his life-line lead anywhere, crossed his.

“I didn’t want you to do it for the money. I wouldn’t have been comfortable with that. It’s a personal preference. Many people do it, but I just—can’t. Bad experiences. Anyhow. I promised myself it wouldn’t be like that. I should’ve made it clear.”

“If you didn’t want sex,” Ben said, “why did you ask me here?”

“Because I can’t resist you, goddamnit,” Hux muttered so darkly it made Ben chuckle. Hux looked at him, uncertain amusement on his lips. He squeezed Ben’s hands, then pulled back. “Seeing you flirting with Krennic was—as if I’ve been right about you this whole time, even though I desperately wanted to be wrong, that you’d chat up anyone and there’s nothing genuine in it, and it just made me want to—oh, I don’t know. You see, being proven an idiot who fell for you...your _act_ , what I believed to be your act, I thought I could at least get something out of it, fuck my preferences, play _your_ game, accept what you were offering and just have you. Make you rut on my legs or something of the like. Nothing intimate, mind you. A safe plan for some twisted revenge.”

Ben scoffed, shook his head. He felt Hux watching him, but he was staring at his chest, counting his breaths. Hux seemed calm now, if still not quite himself, shaken and defeated.

“We’re so fucked up,” Ben concluded. “Fuckups who fucked it all up.”

“Quite,” Hux muttered. Ben peered at him.

“You know,” he said, “I’d totally rut against your leg. Just so you know.”

Hux shook his head, but he was smiling. “The contract—”

“No, I won’t rut against the contract, it’s gotta be your leg”

“Shut up.”

They looked at each other, then turned away like flustered teenagers. Something ached in Ben’s chest.

“I mean, we could just forget about this whole daddy-thing,” he offered, addressing a bookshelf. “Have a vanilla go at it.”

“But it’s your fetish—”

“Kink.”

“It’s your kink.”

“But don’t you like. Hate it.”

“Have I given you that impression? No, it’s—rather the opposite.” Hux got up, dusted off his jacket, straightened his posture. He looked like he was about to give a lecture, with golden flecks soaring around him, and Ben remained on the ground like a enthralled pupil. “You see,” Hux said, and damn right it must have been his academic voice, pronunciation too clear and needlessly arousing, “while I may not be entirely familiar with the subculture, I came to the conclusion that it might be beneficial for me, since I prefer topping, and, well. Considering my build and difficult personality. Who would let me top, unless we had pre-established boundaries and I was paying?”

“I can think of somebody,” Ben suggested.

Something wistful crossed over Hux’s features, but then he was back to his professional self—a safe barrier to keep his most intimate secrets at arm’s length and talk about them in an objective manner, as if it didn’t concern him or anyone present.

“In my experience, if one has a preference for athletic, confident men while he happens to be rather skinny and...fussy, said partners will make him want to submit in some way. The outdated notion that the one receiving is in a humbled position still holds, therefore they would’ve preferred me to bottom. I’ve been looking for a way to turn the tables and bend somebody over them.” He cleared his throat again, peered at Ben. “I have reservations towards the...terminology, but being someone’s daddy still appealed to me on the grounds that should the situation get intimate, it may give me an opportunity to be clear about my preferences, and have my partner respect them, despite...” he vaguely gestured at himself.

“Fuck stereotypes,” Ben said, getting to his feet—slowly, to see if Hux was okay with it. He was watching him ardently. Ben leant against the bookshelf, opening up his posture—submissive, imploring. “I’m 6’2”. I look how I look, I’m assertive as hell, but I’m still a total fucking pillow prince. I think we’re on the same page here.”

“Yes,” Hux said slowly. “We might be.”

“So why don’t we do something about it? Just try it. See how we like it.”

“Do you think you’d like it?” Hux asked, while Ben kept his posture open, legs slightly parted.

“I think I would, yeah.”

“Be advised that I don’t quite have the experience,” Hux warned. “As I said, I wasn’t given the opportunity—”

“I don’t care. Let’s start easy. Come here.”

Hux approached him carefully, clawing at his palms but then hiding them behind his back on the last step. He pressed his knee to Ben’s groin as if he didn’t even mean it, as if he just _happened_ to crush his cock. Ben whined, hot all over—it was too intense for a start, but he fucking loved it. He started rubbing against the hard bone, telling himself he could subtly adjust their posture and rut against Hux’s fleshy thigh if he wanted to, but this was so much better. Hux stood motionless, back taut, but his breath was damp and hot on Ben’s cheek as he leant closer to him.

“Is this okay? Do you need more pressure?”

“Could you touch my hair?” Ben asked. Hux complied, getting two fistfuls, _tugging_ sharply.

Ben moaned. Fuck. He had a dom in the making. Best to save that thought for another day. He stole a kiss, partly because Hux’s breathing became a bit alarming, almost wheezing. He had such a perfect mouth: hot, wet, soft, the taste of tea lingering on his tongue—Ben sucked on it; Hux nipped at his lips.

“How am I doing?” he whispered as he twisted an escaped lock around his fingers.

“Will you want a complete performance analysis every three minutes?” 

“Yes,” Hux said.

Ben felt his lips tremble and quirk up, knew it was his fucking abashed post-joke smile and that it’d be the death of him. He cursed, pushing his hips forward. The coarse burn of his shorts rubbing against his cock and how Hux just stood there, servicing him while being in absolute control of his pleasure—and not even realising the extent of the power he had over him—made him fucking weak. Ben guided his hands to his neck, realised that choking might be a bit too _forward_ , let Hux just grip his shoulders for better balance, and _yanked_ him closer as he started riding his thigh and knee in earnest.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “Shitting hell.”

“So I gather it’s enjoyable.”

“Hell yes.”

Hux tilted his head as he looked at him, his gaze flicking over his face. “Tell me what I can do for you, Solo.”

“Just—could you finger me? Please, I need something inside of me, please—”

“It’s okay,” Hux said, his soothing voice making a thrill race through Ben’s entire body, precome drooling in his briefs as Hux slid his hands down his back, a teasing caress before he reached the waistband of his shorts. Ben kept humping his leg breathlessly, moaned as he felt lithe fingers sliding against his skin, finding their place between his cheeks. He wanted to tear off his shorts or ask Hux to do it, but he couldn’t fucking move or speak as Hux’s index finger tapped against his rim, a pulsing rhythm matching the twitch of Ben’s hips.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered.

“Don’t we need lube, mm?”

“Yeah, we—Pocket.”

“And shouldn’t you be naked?” Hux  asked, getting more and more confident. He teased the tight ring of muscle, and eased the tip of a finger in as he reached into Ben’s pocket with his other hand to get the pack of lube.

Ben hissed, grasping Hux’s shoulders. “Yes, yes, right there, perfect—”

Hux withdrew his hands. “Undress. Fold your clothes and come to the desk.” With that, he turned away, taking the lube and the condom with him.

Ben shimmied out of his shorts and briefs, not bothering to take off his boots or the tank top, because he didn’t have the fucking time, he _had_ to go after Hux. His cock was heavy and bobbing between his legs, chafed, red, the tip wet. He followed the rest of the instructions, putting the bundle of his clothes on the desk as Hux produced hand cream from a drawer.  

“In case we need further assistance,” he noted.

“The lube is water-based, it should suffice,” Ben said, getting hold of the desk’s edge and bending over it.

Hux didn’t seem to mind that he was rushing things; he walked up to him, contemplative, _evaluating_ him on display as if he was a statue. He pulled his tank top up, baring his back and chest, arranging him to his liking—he even combed his hair aside. Ben bit his lips, not knowing if he wanted to complain, because he liked drawing it out, but he also wanted more. Hux cupped his cheeks, giving them a firm squeeze, then—finally—started lubing up his fingers.

“Don’t use the whole package,” Ben said, face pressed to the desk, subtly drooling over a manila folder identical to the one holding the abandoned contract. “I’ll want you to fuck me. If that’s okay.”

The rustle of clothing and the wet noises of Hux preparing his hand ceased for a second; then he said, soft, reassuring, “It’s okay.”

Ben felt him grab his ass, make it part as he slid a finger inside, too fast but hurting in the best way.

“You really like me, don’t you?” Hux asked, craning his finger to nudge Ben’s prostate. He cried out as Hux went on, “You actually like me. You’re not just saying you want me.”

“Can’t you _feel_ ,” Ben hissed, then squeezed his eyes shut as Hux poked at the most sensitive part of his body. “Hey, easy, easy—”

“My apologies. I suppose I just really want to know.”

Ben huffed and relaxed. Hux’s touches got more cautious, almost clinical. Ben eased into the sober rhythm of it, pushing back against Hux’s hand as he let his head loll on the desk. His cock was pulsing with the need for friction, still sore from their earlier activities, but Ben just ignored it, focusing on opening up for Hux.

“Do you like the view?” he asked, his words slightly slurred.

“You’re gorgeous,” Hux said. The compliment sounded more like a scientific observation or an aesthetic evaluation, which made Ben clench and tremble. He liked Hux’s special kind of authority, wished he could tell him, _you can barely keep yourself in check but you’re still in charge, how_ —his mouth fell open, but he was wordless.

“Shall we move over to the chair?” Hux asked. “I think we’d be more comfortable.”

Ben blinked at the velvety chair facing him, and said, stupidly, “Your throne, you’d fuck me on your throne.”

Hux laughed, a surprised, soft little sound. He rounded the desk—he had taken off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves somewhere along the way, and Ben was furious he missed the big reveal of his slutty waistcoat and milky arms. Hux took his seat graciously, fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

“Your Emperor summons you,” he said, words laced with a frivolous amusement. Ben crawled to him on his hands and knees. He couldn’t look away as Hux unzipped his trousers; he clenched around nothing, lube rolling down his thighs in a wet streak. “Careful, don’t get those messy—that’s it.”

Ben slid off the desk, standing at attention, eyes trained on Hux’s cock. It was unexpectedly chubby and cute, waxed smooth, and made Ben drool.

“Should I face you or—?” he asked, dazed. Hux gave himself a lazy tug as he considered their position. It didn’t escape Ben’s attention that he was flushed and panting slightly.

“I think it would be more comfortable if your back was to my chest,” Hux decided.

“Can I sit on it directly? Please sir, I want to sit on your fat cock.”

Hux groaned, gripped the base. So he was close. They should make the most of it while it lasted.

“Let me lube up first,” he said.

Ben wasn’t sure he could wait it out, but he nodded, keeping his hands still so he wouldn’t touch himself or Hux without permission. Provided they were doing the asking-for-permission thing. That part of the contract should’ve been cleared up. He watched Hux with hungry eyes, imagining the weight of his cock on his tongue, how he’d suck him off on a different occasion, preferably somewhere semi-public if Hux was into it. Hux retrieved the condom package, then flipped it over and squinted at the back as if he was hoping to find instructions there.

“You have used a condom before, right?” Ben asked.

“It’s been a while,” Hux mumbled.

“Pinch the tip and leave a little place for—”

“Yes, yes, I recall.”

Ben’s heart lurched, a warmness spreading over his chest. “May I help?”

“I’ve got this,” Hux said. He didn’t.

Ben got to his knees, looking Hux in the eyes as he reached to grab the shaft. Hux gasped as he felt Ben’s touch through the latex. The condom was pitch-black, thank you very much Aaren, and looked like thick oil was being poured over Hux’s straining cock as Ben rolled it on him. The lube made it shine even more; Ben couldn’t help but stare as he fisted it a bit. They could have so much fun with it. Next time he could make Hux wear something ridged, or add a cock ring—he had a thousand possibilities in mind, as if they had all the time; the way Hux looked at him made him believe they did.

Hux lined himself up and Ben turned his back to him; he got hold of the desk again, and began sinking onto Hux’s cock in one fluid motion. They were both holding their breath, and gasped at once as Hux bottomed out.

“All right, love?” he asked, putting a reassuring hand over Ben’s stomach.

Ben trembled, the endearment and the press of Hux’s cock overwhelming him—being this close, having Hux buried in him, have him _caring_ , and when he couldn’t answer Hux started moving, unbearably gently, fucking him as if he was something precious.

“God, you’re heavy,” Hux muttered.

Ben counted to three and rose up a bit, pushed back, found a rhythm. Hux felt so amazing, like he’d found a missing piece; he had definitely had bigger cocks up his ass, sometimes two at a time, but he’d never felt so completely filled. Hux kissed his neck, just a peck, then slid his hands over his pecs, fondled them through his shirt and hissed when it made Ben bear down harder.

“Don’t stop,” Ben asked. He fumbled with the tank top, pulled it up, and after a moment of hesitation just put the hem between his teeth so he had his hands free and could use the desk for leverage. He fucked himself on Hux’s cock, dropping down on it hard, then he began to squirm and bounce.

Hux made the most fantastic sounds, panting and moaning as he kept playing with Ben’s pecks, scratching at them, pinching his nipples. A deep sigh was all the warning he gave before he was coming, forehead pressed between Ben’s shoulder blades. When he sobered up, he gave an apologetic lick, tongue hot through the thin fabric of the tank top.

“What should I—?”

“Tie off the condom and—I don’t know, keep touching me, I’m fucking close.”

Hux pulled out with a wet slide that almost sent Ben over the edge. He gripped the desk tighter, eyes squeezed shut, and tried to stand up, but Hux pulled him back into his lap.

“Your clothes,” Ben objected.

“I have a second pair of trousers,” Hux said, and eased two fingers into his dripping hole, scissoring them as he took hold of Ben’s cock with his other hand. Ben looked down, staring at Hux’s fist in disbelief. It looked so good around his cock, they fit so well together, and his fucking _fingers_ —“Will you come for me, Solo?” Hux whispered. “Will you come for your daddy?”

Ben cried out, come splashing over Hux’s hand and the desk’s drawers.

“Oh,” Hux said. “That answers it, I suppose.”

“Asshole,” Ben mumbled and slumped against him bonelessly. Hux mewled—Ben was probably crushing him. He didn’t care. He was comfy. He liked it here, well-fucked, warm, and safe.

Hux got some tissues to clean him up, then just kept his hand cupped over Ben’s oversensitive cock, stroking it lightly with a thumb.

“It was all very...unprofessional,” he said.

Ben hummed, eyes shut, relishing in Hux’s touch. “I don’t know about you,” he drawled, “but I’m glad we cleared up our argument.”

 

**1 July**

 

After some mishaps with the labels and wall texts, deathly threats to Krennic, and panic attacks over the catalogue and the ads, the exhibition finally opened. It was a black tie event.

It was Ben’s moment.

He stood next to Hux during his opening speech in a bespoke suit they chose together, hair perfectly coiffed, shoes polished to the gods. No one could tell that he was also wearing a chest harness and sheer underwear. He gleamed serenely, the perfect arm candy, smiling and nodding along to Hux’s monologue.

“ _Lunar Landscapes_ brings together late 19th century imagination with the post-postmodern,” Hux was saying, “as traditional art meets digital, painting merges with photography. We can see the moon before we discovered its surface, then examine how the Apollo Mission changed our artistic perception of the Earth’s only companion. I won’t deny that it’s an ambitious project—indeed, I’ve been accused of failure—but looking around I hope you’ll see that our efforts were worth it. I’m happy to say that the Badger and Fox gallery of Sydney agreed to a loan of Galen Erso’s _Death Star_ , which is the paramount piece of our humble exhibition—”

Ben was too distracted to register the rest. There were about fifty guests standing around, and more were expected to flock in as the evening progressed; that was one thing. Another was Hux’s fucking suit. He wouldn’t buy anything for himself at Savile Row, but he’d let Ben drag him to Burberry and he looked like a wet dream, even with his hair slicked back and his eyes red-rimmed. He hadn’t been able to sleep in the past week, unless Ben had forcibly tucked him into bed; he’d wake screaming an artist’s name they misspelt on the invitation, and Ben would not relent until he’d made him scream _Solo_ and _baby_ instead. (The occasional _Benjamin_ happened. Ben should never have let him see his driver’s license.)

There was applause, champagne, more speeches from a Mr. Snoke and a Dr. Sloane, and then mingling. Ben wandered along with Hux, keeping his back turned to the artworks—he’d helped install them, take them all off, rearrange them, evaluate a digital model, and do it all over again, and he was sick of each and every single piece; he wasn’t sick of Hux’s enthusiasm. He loved seeing him bask in glory—it was a good look on him. He also loved how Hux kept his hand on the small of his back, as if _Lunar Landscapes_ was not enough to brag about and Ben compared to months of hard work, blood and tears and sweat.

They strolled from room to room, and Hux occasionally let it drop that Ben was a carpenter _par excellence_ , and casually slid a namecard to their A-list guests who might need an expert for their own exhibitions. Ben started receiving more and more attention, questions and compliments, and Dr. Sloane even asked, “How did you two meet?”

“Funny story, that,”  Hux said. Ben excused himself before he’d do something to embarrass Hux in front of his mentor, and went to grab refreshments. People he’d already met nodded to him or smiled his way—and to his shock, he found Finn by the bar, getting a serving of long island tea.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Ben greeted him.

“I’d ask the same, but I’m afraid of the answer,” Finn said, throwing his drink back and looking Ben over. He was dressed for the occasion in a purple suit, looking more fashionable than Ben would have ever given him credit for. “I was one of his students, you know.”

“Whose?”

“Hux’s. And you—” Finn cocked his head and made a weird face, eyes rolling.

“I what?”

“You two, you—he’s your daddy, isn’t he?”

Ben made a non-committal sound and reached for the hard liquors. Finn’s jaw dropped.

“Oh my God, you _are_ dating Armitage Hux. How. Why.”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” Ben said, fixing himself a whisky-cola.

“He’s a maniac. He’s crazy.”

Ben arched an eyebrow. “I know. I like that about him.” He raised his drink to a pronouncedly disturbed Finn.

“Yikes. Okay. You do you. Him. I guess. Right. Oh my God, have you—like brought him over? Poe would shit himself.”

“And Rey would probably find a way to mortify him, so nah, I haven’t.”

He leant against the bar, taking a sip from the glass. He wasn’t going to tell Finn that he was planning on moving out. That Hux had begged him to do it, softly pleading in the morning, _don’t leave, don’t you dare leave, stay with me,_ clinging to him, that they’d had more serious discussions about it, even though they were still horrible at those. How he just happened to have a toothbrush and a towel at Hux’s flat, the better half of his wardrobe, and his favourite yoga mat. How cosy Hux’s home was, how like the dream home he’d always imagined for himself, down to the last detail, because their taste in interior design (and so much else) had proven to be shockingly compatible.

They still found a way to fight all the time, but mostly for the thrill of making up. They had never finished the fucking contract, but they _had_ learnt to negotiate on the spot. Ben was frequently accused of mind-reading because he always knew what Hux didn’t dare to ask for. Hux was a deadbeat daddy riddled with insecurities, but Ben wouldn’t have had him any other way.

“Well, in any case,” Finn said, “cheers, mate. I’m happy for you.”

“Thank you,” Ben said. “I’m happy too.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Content warnings and clarifications:** Both characters have a poor understanding of what a sugar daddy relationship is—take this fic as a cautionary tale with a surprise happy ending, not as an example: them being misinformed for comedic effect is the very premise of the story. / Hux is portrayed as a service top, and Kylo as a power bottom. The kind of dynamics depicted here is a personal headcanon for this specific story. / Expect second-hand embarrassment / Unwanted approach by a third character quickly rebuked (Krennic - > Ben) / Fleeting fantasy including choking, semi-public sex and being dominated / Characters almost have a contract, but then they have rough-ish sex without negotiating the terms and boundaries of their relationship. However, consent is explicitly negotiated. Hair pulling, scratching, pressing on genitals and not super safe sex featured. / Ben (wrongly) assumes Hux has a feederism fetish / Misconception about sugar babies being in a similar category as sex workers / Misconception that a sugar daddy relationship is fake/pretend / Manipulative behaviour, ghosting, you know the drill with these evil space boyfriends / Side-ships include Vi/Cardinal, vague suggestion of FinnRey and/or Stormpilot, and Krennic/Erso
> 
> The title is from a (widely underappreciated) [Florence and the Machines song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bl_jfkORNF8). I don't know what's with me, Kylux, and Florence. 
> 
> The fic is a **collab** with the wonderful [Jeusus](http://jeusus.tumblr.com); the story is based on a twitter convo we had, and she helped me with headcanons, suggestions and corrections. Check out the amazing [**art**](https://jeusus.tumblr.com/post/176599660638/hux-didnt-book-one-of-those-kinky-couples) she did for the fic!
> 
> A million thanks to [bioticnerfherder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioticnerfherder) for betaing!
> 
> Find me on tumblr [@longstoryshortikilledhim](http://longstoryshortikilledhim.tumblr.com) // there's a [moodboard](http://longstoryshortikilledhim.tumblr.com/post/176370821071/my-boy-builds-coffins-when-ben-decided-to-get) for the fic // Kylux [AO3 feed](http://ao3feed--kylux.tumblr.com/post/176370779308/my-boy-builds-coffins) link


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